


Imagine: Dean figuring out you have a thing for Castiel.

by webcricket



Series: Castiel Imagines [25]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-11
Updated: 2018-02-11
Packaged: 2019-03-16 14:15:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13637949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/webcricket/pseuds/webcricket





	Imagine: Dean figuring out you have a thing for Castiel.

“You’re back!” Dean jumps down the kitchen stairs to greet you with a beaming smile and open arms.

“Well hello to you too, Dean.” Glancing up from the mountain of plastic grocery bags piled on the counter, you grin at his show of enthusiasm.

Ambling over, attempting to look as disinterested as humanly possible in your supply haul, he casually begins to poke, prod, and peek into the nearest bags, sizing them up for the likelihood of containing baked goods, specifically those of the pastry-crust fruit-filled variety.

“You mind?” You motion in an appeal for his help in putting everything away. You know deep down in your heart of hearts he’s only here for the pie. Conveniently, you’ve kept the particular bag he’s searching for closest to you in anticipation of this happening.

“Yeah, of course.” His smile cocks sideways, as if he wasn’t going to abscond with the dessert as soon as he got his sticky fingers on it and helping you was the plan all along.

“Thanks.” You chuckle under your breath, turning to stow the beer in the open fridge between Sam’s macadamia nut milk and whatever greasy gastronomic leftover science experiment of Dean’s design is festering in the unlabeled storage bowl on the top shelf. Grimacing, nose crinkling in disgust, you gingerly yank out the bowl and remit it directly into the trash – it’s entirely possible the colorful fuzz growing in there will be the next monster you all have to hunt down and gank.

“Man, you’ve got it bad, don’t you?”

“Huh?” You spin around at Dean’s remark.

He lofts an implicating brow, holding up a value-size bundle of toilet paper rolls.

“What?” You shake your head, confounded. “It was on the list.”

“ _Angel_ Soft brand? You know Sammy’s a Charmin boy.”

“It was on sale,” you defend, although you don’t actually remember if it was on sale or not.

His eyebrow threatens to launch into space. “And this.” He withdraws a glistening golden pint of condensation covered ice cream from another bag. “ _Halo_ Top?”

“Some people like pie. I prefer ice cream.” You shrug, curling a lip questioningly and snatching it from his curious clutches to jam it in the freezer. “What’s your point?”

“What’s my point? Really?” He grabs at a six-pack of energy drinks, presenting them as final evidence.

“Yeah, Red Bull, so?” you ask, still nonplussed by his peculiar reaction. Not that any of you drink the stuff, nor do you recall even sticking the beverage in your cart; but you’re exhausted, not having slept much at all last night, so maybe it seemed like a good idea at the time and then since slipped your mind.

“Red Bull, come on, you know the slogan, _‘It gives you wings…,’_ ” Dean emphasizes the sales pitch with a insinuating wag of his chin.

Standing there, jaw agape, you start to think perhaps Dean ate some of his cotton-coated culinary research as an appetizer before you returned home with dinner fortifications. “What the hell are you going on about, Winchester?”

Dean huffs and rolls his glittering greens in exasperation. “The fever, you got it, with a capital _C_.”

“Hello Y/N.”

Your gaze flies to the trench coat clad blue-eyed seraph shadowing the threshold. A cascade of warmth sweeps your skin and sets your cheeks hotly aglow at the sight of him. “Hi Cas,” you hum, a shy smile spreading on your lips.

Not tearing his regard from your flushed features as he steps into the room, Cas nods to his friend in polite acknowledgement. “Dean.”

Dean harshly clears his throat, garnering your attention. “Like I said. You got it bad, kiddo.” He angles his head pointedly at the angel.

“Oh,” your eyes flare wider and flit to your feet. “ _That_.”

“Yeah, _that_ ,” Dean snorts. Forgetting the pie for the time being, smugly smirking, he shoves the Red Bull under one arm. Brushing past the angel as he spins to leave, he winks and gifts him a jostling smack on the shoulder. “Looks like Y/N needs a little of that healing touch there, buddy.”

Cas stumbles ever-so-slightly under the friendly strike. Ignoring Dean’s odd behavior, he closes the distance separating you. “Allow me.” Squinting at you in concern, he gently grasps your upper arm and draws you nearer to him. Lifting two fingers to touch your forehead, he makes clear his intent to remedy the fever he heard Dean suggest ails you.

“I-I’m fine,” you stutter, acutely aware of just how close he is and the influx of heat radiating from his vessel to mingle with your own. Peering up from your feet, you lose yourself in the stunning sapphire sea of his aspect.

“Are you really…”

Your focus shifts to his mouth as he speaks.

“-fine?” Breath fanning your face, his fingertips tarry tantalizingly on your flesh. Tracing to your temple, they trail down the slope of your cheekbone. Thumb coming to rest on your chin, his fingers stretch to tickle the column of your throat.

“More than fine, angel,” you whisper, lashes fluttering to meet his lust-darkened gaze. “But Dean knows.” So much for the notion of keeping your relationship quiet; and here you were absolutely certain Castiel, not you, would be the one to let your secret slip to the brothers.

Hand twisting to your neck to tangle in your hair, he leans in; soft lips hovering over your own, he growls, “And?”

“And-,” in answer you acquiesce to his lips a passionate kiss.


End file.
